Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Tiffany Vergon, Juliet Sutherland,
Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
Translated by
GILBERT CANNAN
In spite of the success which was beginning to materialize outsideFrance, the two friends found their financial position very slow inmending. Every now and then there recurred moments of penury when theywere obliged to go without food. They made up for it by eating twice asmuch as they needed when they had money. But, on the whole, it was atrying existence.
For the time being they were in the period of the lean kine. Christophehad stayed up half the night to finish a dull piece of musicaltranscription for Hecht: he did not get to bed until dawn, and sleptlike a log to make up for lost time. Olivier had gone out early: he hada lecture to give at the other end of Paris. About eight o'clock theporter came with the letters, and rang the bell. As a rule he did notwait for them to come, but just slipped the letters under the door. Thismorning he went on knocking. Only half awake, Christophe went to thedoor growling: he paid no attention to what the smiling, loquaciousporter was saying about an article in the paper, but just took theletters without looking at them, pushed the door to without closing it,went to bed, and was soon fast asleep once more.
An hour later he woke up with a start on hearing some one in his room:and he was amazed to see a strange face at the foot of his bed, acomplete stranger bowing gravely to him. It was a journalist, who,finding the door open, had entered without ceremony. Christophe wasfurious, and jumped out of bed:
"What the devil are you doing here?" he shouted.
He grabbed his pillow to hurl it at the intruder, who skipped back. Heexplained himself. A reporter of the Nation wished to interview M.Krafft about the article which had appeared in the Grand Journal.
"What article?"
"Haven't you read it?"
The reporter began to tell him what it was about.
Christophe went to bed again. If he had not been so sleepy he would havekicked the fellow out: but it was less trouble to let him talk. Hecurled himself up in the bed, closed his eyes, and pretended to beasleep. And very soon he would really have been off, but the reporterstuck to his guns, and in a loud voice read the beginning of thearticle. At the very first words Christophe pricked up his ears. M.Krafft was referred to as the greatest musical genius of the age.Christophe forgot that he was pretending to be asleep, swore inastonishment, sat up in bed, and said:
"They are mad! Who has been pulling their legs?"
The reporter seized the opportunity, and stopped reading to plyChristophe with a series of questions, which he answered unthinkingly.He had picked up the paper, and was gazing in utter amazement at his ownportrait, which was printed as large as life on the front page: but hehad no time to read the article, for another journalist entered theroom. This time Christophe was really angry. He told them to get out: